


Valeo

by chantefable



Category: Frontier Wolf - Rosemary Sutcliff
Genre: Ancient Rome, Catullus Poetry, Extra Treat, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Matchmaking, Navy, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-22 01:41:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12470656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chantefable/pseuds/chantefable
Summary: Alexios fails to write a proper letter, the Attacotti learn a Greek song, and a eucatastrophe happens.





	Valeo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amyfortuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/gifts).



> “Joy of my life! You tell me this -  
> that nothing can possibly break this love of ours for each other.”
> 
> Gaius Valerius Catullus (c.84-54 BC), 109, translated by Peter Whigham (1966)

_SVBEEV_ –

That was as far as Alexios got with his letter when the ship gave a mighty lurch. Dislodged from his seat, he made an abrupt motion to steady himself and ruined the carefully smoothed surface of the tablet with a palm print.

The air smelled like salt and sweat with an acrid quality of horror. The Attacotti scouts were not in favour of sea travel, but maintained as much stoic dignity as people who have not read the stoic philosophers were capable of: they did not complain and sang a great number of bawdy songs. In fact, just that morning Hilarion had cheerfully informed Alexios that if he heard “I kissed a girl at Clusium” one more time, he would throw himself overboard before they reached Belgica.

Steadying himself, Alexios thought about finishing the letter to his mother, but in truth he did not know what to say beyond the inquiries and assurances of good health. He was happy, and it was an awkward feeling that he was sure had to be improper somehow. He had lost men under his command, friendships, connections, and – a man he had shared a tenderness with. Surely he was not supposed to feel happy, even though his career had just taken a turn for the better. Besides, even were he to be sincere, he doubted his words would read as such given he had refused a more advantageous proposal from Emperor Constans himself.

Deciding a bland missive to his mother could wait anyhow, Alexios stumbled along, gathering the tablet and the stylus, and inwardly bemoaned his lack of sea-legs. He heard footsteps on the deck, and voices. 

The minor commotion and sharp tones did not last long enough to alarm Alexios, and he put it out of his mind just as he was putting away his things and straightening his clothing to make himself presentable before heading out. He sensed a hint of rhythm and melody coming from the remiges section of the ship, and vaguely recognised it as a song the trierarchus had sung at dinner yesterday – a song Hilarion seemed to have taken a liking to. Something about birds, or flutes?

Moments later, there was a knock – a particularly clear, decisive sound that Alexios had come to associate with a specific person – and the door opened with a slight creak, letting in a stream of sunlight, a fresh burst of salty air, and, finally, a tall figure uttering a cheerful greeting and crossing the threshold.

“Good afternoon to you, too, Hilarion. Is it good?”

“Splendid, though you would not believe it if you were to listen to the disgruntled talk I have to put up with.”

“Oh?”

“The training routine has to be maintained if we want them approaching decent level when we reach the posting and can move on to more advanced things. The Attacotti fellows are happy enough on rowing duty, but –”

But whenever a shift change comes, the sulking knows no end, Alexios finished inwardly. The men were good at rowing, at least, according to the Phoenician peregrini who were in charge of the rowing crew, and the activity was good for their physical bulk and strength. However, they had to learn a wide variety of other skills if they were to become useful, and take turns as craftsmen and doing various jobs. Of course, neither Alexios nor Hilarion expected them to rival the ship's permanent crew overnight, but one never knew what might come handy in turbulent times, and trying all sorts of things might well uncover someone's hidden talent which would prove beneficial to the unit later.

Vexed as he might be, Hilarion would never venture so far in his laments as to warrant a formal reprimand when one was not deserved, and so he did not share whatever particular trifle had bothered him just then. If anything, his face twisted in a grimace that might have been intended as apologetic.

Exhaling loudly, Hilarion ran his hands through his hair, already disheveled by the wind and slightly bleached by the sun. He went on, “Like a wise man, I prepare for war – even just now they are on deck and most ready to battle hapless fish with copious vomit. Whenever the waves get even a little rough, their disposition suffers visibly and they roll about the ship like bruised apples.”

“Is that so,” said Alexios, and his voice was perhaps inappropriately keen for such an inane response, but he experienced a joyful lightness at Hilarion's friendly intrusion in the narrow confines of Alexios' cabin. A separate cabin! Tiny as it was, such luxury was hardly justified, and Alexios would have gladly roomed with his senior centenarius instead, but the illusion of respectful distance – keeping up appearances for the sake of giving the right idea of authority and subordination to the new men – was deemed more important than practicality. And so the two of them were constantly coming and going, in and out, together and separately, crossing paths on the deck and below, moving about the ship like pieces of latrunculi being shuffled across the board. 

And although Alexios liked to be in the thick of things, showing his face to the men to make sure they knew him, and also to know their measure for himself, occasions such as this, when he and Hilarion had a shred of privacy, were doubtless the brightest. Alexios trusted Hilarion's experience and ability thoroughly; he trusted his opinion, but the latter could be more freely given when they were alone, especially in matters involving management and subordination. It was vital for them to be close, given their positions. And when this closeness was achieved, whether on the deck, with the two of them standing side by side and watching the sun bronze the rolling waves, or here, securely enclosed in the narrow space of the cabin like twin grains of sand trapped in the same shell on a whim, Alexios felt an easy sense of rightness flood him.

Determined to say at least something of substance, Alexios added, “I believe you enjoy tormenting them just a little too much. One learns by drilling, it is certain, and there is great value in making them exercise while we are at sea, to keep them busy; and I've known you as nothing short of a just disciplinarian, but they might come to think you too severe if you keep it up. Why, to practice sparring _and_ learn a new song in a day? It's like you delight in watching the green recruits suffer for your amusement.”

“Such harsh judgement! I demand fairness. Surely everyone has this flaw,” intoned Hilarion importantly, with mischief dancing in his eyes. 

“But there is no obligation to do the impossible,” said Alexios, and watched the grin split Hilarion's face like the sun splits the dense clouds after the storm.

“Why, Praepositus, I have never taken you for one of the Proculiani. How wonderful that after all this time we still have the opportunity to surprise each other!”

Alexios waved off Hilarion's ribbing and barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes; instead, he side-stepped the other man to reach for a small bowl of dried fruit he kept at hand as an indulgence, more to feast his eyes than his belly, and decisively offered it to his guest. Hilarion's glance slid past the shriveled pieces and lingered on the bowl. The swirls and wavy lines etched into the clay surface gave it away as the work of the tribes, purchased on a market day; now, Alexios was bringing it with him to Belgica. Just like he was bringing the Numerus of the First Attacotti Frontier Scouts, and Hilarion himself. 

A heartbeat later, Hilarion silently accepted the offering and picked a dry, sticky piece of apple. He was careful, and his balance, like many other things, was better than Alexios', yet, he, too, was more used to land than sea, thus naturally unsteady in the circumstances. Why else would he have stumbled half a step closer, and had his fingers brush against the back of Alexios' hand? Hilarion's fingers were as rough as the textured clay of the bowl, and as strangely pleasant on Alexios' skin. The dried apple slice left a slight sticky trace across Alexios' knuckles, and, without thinking, he put down the bowl and licked it off before the vulgarity of the gesture occurred to him.

Before, Alexios would not have thought he had it in him to be effortlessly tawdry, to draw another's gaze like that. But before, Alexios would not have imagined Emperor Constans offering him brilliant career opportunities – after all, he was not a handsome tall barbarian capable of being both useful and decorative in the Emperor's personal guard – and yet it had happened. And now, Hilarion's gaze was focused on him, a scout's gaze, sharp as a knife, missing nothing. 

“Thank you,” Hilarion said quietly, without taking a single bite, and the joking lilt was gone from his voice, making it impossible to guess whether he meant the apple, or remarks on the men's training, or Alexios' unintended display.

“There is no need to thank me,” mumbled Alexios, feeling his cheeks grow hot under the intensity of Hilarion's attention. Gone were the days where he would stand ramrod straight while his senior centenarius leaned against the nearest wall available, where Alexios was anxious about the judgment Hilarion might pass, however cloaked in irony. Now, with the ship swaying softly, the two of them mirrored each other – loose posture but feet planted firmly on the floor – and Alexios was no longer afraid that Hilarion might find him severely lacking. He trusted Hilarion. 

And surely Hilarion trusted him, too; why else would he choose to follow him to Belgica and command the Attacotti just out of basic training? Surely it was not simply for the pleasure of teaching them the fight moves and all the traditional repertoire of marching songs. Although there might be some substantial joy for Hilarion in that; come to think of it, who else would have taught them “I kissed the girl at Clusium” in the first place? Ha, he only had himself to blame, then.

Struggling to focus on something other than the sudden thrum of blood in his ears, Alexios let his gaze stray over the cabin, taking in the well-loved, salt-imbued wood. His ears picked up the muted hum of a song the remiges sang over and over, incessant as the run of the waves itself, and combining different accents and levels of singing proficiency in an odd way, like a musical cross sea: the permanent rowers of the ship and the Attacotti scouts, joined together in a single melody.

“This is the one the trierarchus likes so much?” Alexios' heart was gleeful when Hilarion's eyes once again lit up with unrepentant mischief. “I cannot believe you are making them take up Greek now! Are there no limits to your ambition these days?”

“Eh, a little Greek in them never hurt anyone,” said Hilarion around his half-chewed apple slice, and choked before he managed anything else. His eyes bulged and he would not cough, so Alexios thumped him on his back until the offending bit of fruit was dislodged and Hilarion could breathe freely. He was terribly flushed and his back felt very warm under Alexios' hand.

“What is that song anyway? I must admit I was not paying close attention,” asked Alexios without removing his hand from the space between Hilarion's shoulder blades. He watched them rise and fall slightly as Hilarion took a calming breath, the hint of movement reminiscent of a bird settling its wings.

“Some new verses about Marsyas playing the aulos – wine is good, let us all speak freely and drink from this wineskin, something something – invective. I believe the trierarchus is initiated in the cult of Bacchus – he is terribly fond of the song. Why, the Liberalia is already past, and yet he would still break into it whenever we cross paths with a mighty jolly look.” Hilarion chanced a glance at Alexios and quickly continued. “But I figured it might be good for the men to learn something different and fashionable. They won't be Frontier scouts at the most despicable and backwards edge of the Empire, after all. One needs to keep up with the times.”

“Is that so,” breathed Alexios, abruptly realising that they were standing very close, and his hand was still on Hilarion's warm back as if it belonged there. He thought of the gay and knowing looks the trierarchus had been similarly casting his way, and the weird metaphor-riddled conversation Alexios had had with the man on the day of Liberalia itself. Indeed, the older man had been well on the way to recreating the mysteries of Dionysus with the meager supply of watered wine they had, and Alexios had respectfully nodded along while the trierarchus held a jumbled monologue about the virtue of challenging authority and speaking freely, whether this led to flaying or further delights – a speech Alexios had found mildly confusing and inappropriate even before the trierarchus went on to attack the cheese spread and quote Catullus: 

_Iuventius,_  
_were I allowed_  
_to kiss your eyes_  
_as sweet as honey_  
_on & on, three_  
_thousand kisses_  
_would not seem_  
_too much for me,_

\- an admittedly strange choice for the night's entertainment, but quite delightful in the man's deep and drunken voice. The beneficiarius laughed and applauded, obviously used to this sort of thing, and Alexios and the rest of the guests joined in.

Now, Alexios felt rather foolish and terribly young for missing the hint. Granted, the Alexios of a few months ago would have been dreadfully embarrassed at having been so transparent as to warrant a well-wisher's intervention; the Alexios from before would not have been brave enough to take another's nudge as an auspicious sign. Both the Alexios of Abusina and the Alexios of Castellum would have second-guessed themselves in matters of heart.

But valour grows by daring, and fear by holding back. Now, Alexios felt the same audacity that had previously spurred him to repeat the Abusina maneuver with the Frontier Wolves; the same audacity that had urged him to decline the generous offer of Emperor Constans, the prospects of illustrious career and imperial favour; the same audacity that made him beg for a fresh start with his formidable surviving scouts on a different edge of the Empire. Amplified by continuous success, that audacity was now as boundless as the wide seas bathing the shores of Rome from Hispania to Judaea; it was bright and powerful and a direct opposite to the fearful coyness that Alexios had felt when he had loved before. 

Before, he had held back in fear of declaring himself to a man who had already pledged himself, and although Alexios' reticence had been justified by virtue and prudence, shyness and shame had been steadily eating at his character, like rust would eat at iron, until he was simply blinded by fear. (And that blindness left him confused and unprepared for the horror to come, unable to prevent the dreadful death of his dear one at his own hands.) Now, Alexios was determined to honour his erstwhile love in the most honest way he was able to think of: by never repeating his past mistakes again, and by making sure he never willfully harmed his loved one by action or inaction, or by leaving a truth unspoken. 

His tenderness for Hilarion spoke itself in open counsel and implicit trust; it bared itself through seeking reassurance and offering comfort in a hundred little ways in a day. Alexios would kill for Hilarion, would shame himself for Hilarion, would be killed for him. Objectively, Alexios had never ventured that far in his affections. And since he already felt that way and nothing could be done, and the object of his affection was certainly worthy, the state of life augmented Alexios' courage and prompted him to even greater openness.

That was the reasoning: difficult to elaborate, yet quick to pierce the mind. The decision was swift, and the action even more so: Alexios grinned, closed the final distance in a single step, and kissed Hilarion.

_as many as_  
_ripe harvest ears_  
_of sheaves of corn_  
_would still not be_  
_too much of kiss-_  
_ing you, for me._

Perhaps Catullus was, indeed, appropriate for the circumstances.

They broke for breath, and some sort of unease and hesitance flickered in Hilarion's eyes, so Alexios hastened to dispel it. Later – indeed, for years to come – he would blame the trierarchus for the rapturous and sentimental urge, because, like an infatuated fool, Alexios found no better way but to clasp the other man to his chest and use the poet's words: “ _No love-faith found so true as mine in you._ ”

Hilarion's gaze and lips answered with a most beautiful smile, like a beam of sunshine on a cresting wave; and then, as was only well-deserved, he smacked Alexios on the back of his head and tumbled him onto the narrow sleeping pallet.

(Later – indeed, for years to come – Hilarion would tease him terribly for his poetics, dramatics, and astonishing boldness in stealing kisses in the middle of conversation. Alexios would respond that, though his timing may not always be ideal, at least he took good advice to heart.

(What if he had left the matter in Hilarion's hands, and let him wallow in indecision? Until the following year's Liberalia, or perhaps forever? No, as soon as it had dawned on him, Alexios had seized the day! And such precious feelings were not lost to the tide of time, nor did they waste another moment.)

When they had at last sated themselves, Alexios could not tell how much time had passed, but the rowers' performance of the song about Marsyas and his prowess with the aulos had become much more fluid, and even pleasant. 

He turned to look at Hilarion's face, restful and soft in sleep, and watched the spread of warm flush that highlighted both Hilarion's freckles and laugh-lines around his eyes and mouth. 

Alexios felt himself smile, not with his lips but with his face entire, with all of his being, and so, before the last of merry sunshine dipped into the sea-water and hid beyond the horizon, he took up the stylus again and hastened to write again, 

_si vales bene est ego valeo_.

He had never meant it more.

**Author's Note:**

> SVBEEV - si vales bene est ego valeo, “if you are well, it is well, I am well”, common beginning for ancient Roman letters.
> 
> Remiges - aka eretai, rowers of free status on a galley.
> 
> Trierarchus - commander of a Roman ship.
> 
> Phoenician peregrini - the bulk of ship crews in Imperial times was formed of non-citizen provincial freeborns from peoples with a maritime background.
> 
> Like a wise man… - In pace ut sapiens aptarit idonea bello, “In peace, like the wise man, make preparations for war”, from Satires by Quintus Horatius Flaccus aka Horace (65-8 BC), leading lyric poet in the Octavian times.
> 
> Surely everyone has this flaw… - Omnibus hoc vitium est, “Everyone has this flaw”, is Horace's Satire 1.3, according to which one has to stay fair when criticising others, and be particularly lenient to friends.
> 
> Impossible obligations… - Impossibilium nulla obligatio est, “There is no obligation to do the impossible” (Dig. 50, 17, 185), as said by Publius Juventius Celsus Titus Aufidius Hoenius Severianus aka Celsus filius (67-130 AD), a proconsul of Asia, an influential jurist and member of the Proculian school of lawyers who was part of the Consilium of Emperor Hadrian.
> 
> Bowl purchased on market day - coin distributions at some British Roman forts have been interpreted as evidence of hosting market activity within the forts themselves.
> 
> A handsome tall barbarian – Emperor Constans had a fondness for beautiful barbarian hostages from his various campaigns, and was notorious for his favoritism towards his personal bodyguard team made entirely of said handsome hunks.
> 
> Cross sea - a sea state with two wave systems travelling at oblique angles.
> 
> Marsyas - a mythological satyr who played the aulos (a sort of double reed oboe) discarded by Athena, challenged Apollo to a music battle, and got flayed alive for his efforts. Publius Ovidius Naso aka Ovid (43 BC-17/18 AD) briefly retells the tale in his Metamorphoses (vi. 383-400). Romans considered Marsyas the inventor of augury and proponent of free speech. (The song about Marsyas is made up; this liberty is only justified by the fact that the author knows little to no Roman chartbusters.)
> 
> Liberalia - celebrated March 17 in honour of Father Liber (identified with Dionysus or Bacchus and concerned with the welfare of the plebs), a time for speaking freely.
> 
> Iuventius, were I allowed…/ as many as... - Catullus 48, quoted in the Peter Whigham translation.
> 
> Beneficiarius - head of the ship's administrative crew.
> 
> Valour grows by daring... - Audendo virtus crescit, tardando timor, “Audacity augments courage; hesitation, fear”, as said by Publilius Syrus (fl. 85-43 BC), a Syrian-born Latin-language writer, mimes artist and improviser.
> 
> No love-faith… - Catullus 87, quoted in the Peter Whigham translation.


End file.
